


Pretty, Pretty

by naznahl



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Beads, Less Bratty Now Somehow, Non-Gendered Warrior of Light, Other, Sex Sleeves, Sex Toys, Uhhhhh... Love..., Unnamed Warrior of Light - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29962650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naznahl/pseuds/naznahl
Summary: You distract Raubahn from his work because you want his attention on you, always.
Relationships: Raubahn Aldynn/Reader, Raubahn Aldynn/Warrior of Light
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Pretty, Pretty

**Author's Note:**

> takes place somewhere in between [please, please](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29735316) and [promises, promises](https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/29848458)

“I’m here to annoy you,” you announce to Raubahn.

“I can see your motivations clear on your face, imp.” He doesn’t look at you at all, the liar.

You’re sitting on his desk, your legs spread out in a wide stretch in front of him - offering him a _feast_ \- and he continues to pretend not to see you in favor of paperwork. He’s ridiculous. For all the times he’s called you ridiculous, he’s twice as much so. You’re jealous of the furrow on his brow existing for anything other than you. All the work you’ve done to visit him today to grant him the gift of yourself is wasted on him.

You watch him, wondering if he needs glasses with the way that he peers at the report in his hand. It’s not hard, for you, to discern his thoughts from the way he holds a finger to his temple to rub out a worry.

“Is Pipin well?”

“Aye, well as can be,” he sighs, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. He sighs again, world-weary and too far away from you for you to bear for more than a few breaths.

“What’s ailing you then, my friend?”

You mimic his sigh, closing your legs against your own wishes. Your thighs slap together loudly as you snap them shut, and he startles at the sound. Raubahn opens his eyes, watching you as you slide off his desk carefully so as to not knock the letters from Pipin onto the ground.

Sliding into his lap, you kiss his nose as he lays a reassuring hand onto your back to welcome you onto him. “Naught but the expected burdens of our work, ones which we must bear until the day we can lay down arms. You’re somehow as well aware of the news as I am, seeing as you’ve made your way here with uncanny timeliness.”

You ignore his gentle accusation, feeling that you’re allowed to not take the bait after he did the same to your lovely, perfect legs. You kiss him instead, feeling the planes of his lips against yours as he returns your explorations with his own tongue sliding into your mouth to run against yours.

“Ah, well. I wish I could take all the weight of the world off your shoulders to carry for you,” you whisper in the breathless space between your lips when you part.

“I would not wish for you to do so,” he says, sliding his palm against your back. He's so soft on your mouth in contrast to the hard strength of his body under your hands as you touch him everywhere you can. He's heartbreaking, he is.

“I know you wouldn’t, because you’re an old fool.” You dig into his pelvis with a sudden, harsh grind of your hips.

“That hurt.” He rests his forehead against your shoulder, breathing roughly from the kiss and the pain. Both gifts of love from you.

“I hope so,” you say, “I need you to stop paying attention to anything else but me right now.” You run your thumbs across the scars on his face, stopping at his temples to rub circles into him. He tilts his head against his chair in relief and you follow him in his incline, pressing your chest against him fully. You fight against the dueling urges to kiss him and watch him at the same time, licking your lips as the tension leaves his face.

“You know, I could take anything from you if I tried hard enough,” you tell him. He hums in response, letting you continue in your work to loosen him up. You rock your hips again, more measured this time, calculating the angle of how you need to grind against him through the barrier of your clothes to get him to focus on you instead.

He rewards you with his lips parting and you take it as an opening to return to his mouth, not letting him argue with you anymore.

The quietness is broken by the sighs and delicate moans you give each other as you press into each other in a languid embrace. You give him kisses like he's the reason you can breathe, and he returns them to you with the reassurance that you can absolutely breathe on your own. You're not sure which one of you convinces the other they're right.

You let his mouth run away from you in favor of burying your face into his neck, sucking onto his throat to decorate him in a way that it'd be impossible for anyone to mistake your work for a wound.

“I dread the day you can make your dreams a reality,” he sighs into the air of the room. You ameliorate the emptiness immediately, putting your fingers in his mouth so he can lick down the length of them.

“Don't be afraid of me, just fuck me.” You leave a bite mark on his throat just because you can, as a seal of yourself on him. He's yours alone, or least you can pretend he is. “Fuck me. I want you so badly, Raubahn.”

“Rhalgr give me the strength to deal with you.”

You love that. You love bullying him into curses, no more measured words because you know it means you've started to take up all the space in his lovely head with your presence. No room for grief in his heart when you can wrap around him like this, smothering him with your affection.

“Fuck me, Raubahn,” you continue, surging with need, “Do it here on your desk, rough and dry, or take me back to my room so you can do it slowly, but please just fuck me. I can't live another moment without you on my skin.”

He buries his face into your chest, diving in to inhale the scent of you. There's agonizing seconds between his breaths. You wait him out, giving him the space to balance the need to respond to the letters on his desk with your insistent whining need. You know who is going to win, but you still let him realize it on his own.

He stands up with you still on him, not minding your shout of glee as you fling your arms and legs around him to hold on to him.

* * *

“What is that.” His voice is so flat that you burst into laughter at the stunned expression on his face. He looks ridiculous, and so do you, naked in your room as the tender mood dissipates under your current mischief.

You shake the box of sex toys you’ve picked up during boring periods of your travels, waiting patiently to show him until you filled up the box to the brim - not for any reason other than this is exactly what you wanted to see on him, the frozen look on his face is a treat for you as he realizes where your thoughts are. You can’t tell him enough, but you’ve always been like this for him, just for him.

“You know, my friend. There’s no way that you’ve lived to be this old and not know all the ways people can have fun together. I simply will not entertain the thought of your innocence in this matter.” You smile at him as he sits on your bed like a statue, unnaturally still.

He huffs, not moving his face away as you dump the whole box of toys onto the sheets. It’s a rainbow menagerie of colors, quite pretty to look at if you say so yourself. You want to see what he'd look like if you named all of them, the plugs and dildos and beads and rings and balls and sleeves and wands, you could write songs about all of them if he asked you to.

You watch the processing look on his face for a few more moments before you crawl into his lap to put your mouth firmly against his. You kiss him back to life, until the stone of him melts into your arms. Smiling against his lips, you silently pray to always be able to astonish him like this, keep him finding new joys in life.

“Listen. Listen to me, Raubahn. We don’t have to use any of them. We could also use all of them. They’re all clean or new. I’ve only ever used them on myself while thinking of you.”

“I’m not afraid of them - ”

“Good!”

“- I’m terrified of you.”

He’s broken your heart and you can only grin into his lips as love overflows within your chest, so much so that you think it’ll begin to leak out of your mouth as you drown in it. “Don’t be afraid of me. You said that before as well. Don’t. I adore you so. You’re the only one I want like this, always. I think only of you, always.”

He wraps you in an embrace and kisses you, desperate with his touches as you feel. “I’m afraid I can’t carry all this affection,” he says quietly against you.

“You can, absolutely. I’ll make you, if I have to,” you whisper back, the edge of a sob on your voice, “You've spoiled me so much I can’t exist without you now.”

“That’s what fills my heart with such fear.” He bears his weight down upon you, pushing you into the bed so you can scarcely breathe. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Anything, anything,” you chant in return, digging your nails into his back. “Just stay with me.”

You both stay like that, kissing one another without any need for any other stimulation, barely even air between the two of you.

Finally, he sighs and presses his forehead against yours, glancing off to the side to look at a large, green egg-shaped toy with a split tongue molded onto it. “What in the seven hells is that?”

“That one is just to look at, no need to worry. It's adorable.” You're busy sucking at the marks you've made on his neck to make them worse, wondering how annoyed he will be with you once he catches sight of how it will look when it bruises.

You reach out without looking, the dull sound of silicone against silicone as you feel through the toys to grab one you know you like already. It'd be something easy for him as well, you're pleased to say, crowing internally at how thoughtful a lover you are for him.

“This.” You hold up the beads for him to see, your finger hooked into the ring as you fling them around in the air thoughtlessly.

“That… tell me why,” he says, turning his face to consider it with his cheek against your nose. You inhale him, pressing up to kiss his sideburn.

“Just a bit more control for you since you're not familiar with these. See how they get bigger? This last one is bigger than even your two fingers.” You demonstrate, holding out the seventh bead on the string against his finger. “I want you to decide what you think I can take, but I do want you to know I can take all of them.”

You tilt your head up to kiss his cheek again, “I adore you, I do. I'm happy with whatever you decide to give me.”

He turns his face back to you, your noses brushing together. “You're always an experience.”

You shrug against him. “I want to share the experiences with you.”

He licks his lips, the distance between you so close that you can feel the slide of them on your own. The desire for him threatens to overwhelm you as you stare at each other, blurry this close but still enamored with him.

“Show me how you hold your body when you do this to yourself.”

You grin, pushing his shoulder so he gets off you and you can rearrange yourself on your hands and knees in front of him, your ass presented to him. You appreciate him so much more when he admires you, and you do, you absolutely do live to be admired by him.

Raubahn sits up behind you to place his palm on your ass, and you're delighted by the thought that he gets so distracted when you get to this point with him. You've teased and seduced him into bed a handful of times now but he's still so new to you that the comfortable familiarity of the thought _he always needs time to look at me before touching me_ warms an aching pleasure in your chest. You adore him, absolutely. You want him to touch you always.

He keeps rubbing his hand over you, lost in his own reverie. Very kindly, he wakes you both up with a sharp slap on your ass. You moan around your grin.

“Spread yourself open for me.”

Balancing yourself so you can hold your ass open for him, you try to look back at him and just see his dark silhouette against the window. You could worship the curve of his shoulder, you think. You haven't touched him enough, not nearly enough to say you've memorized the cords of hard muscle and treasured softness that make him, but you will.

He swears as he searches the messy display on the bed for lubricant, and you wait for him in the position he's left you in. It's so vulnerable, the cool room air against your sensitive skin as you wait for him with your own hands baring yourself, and you don't even think he questions it. You wouldn't let anyone else see you like this and he doesn't even question it. He's impossible, you can barely cope with him. But at the same time, it feels really good, truly, to be waiting for him like this. The control you have to have to not move a muscle makes you tremble. You want to always look how he wants you to, even if it makes you fall apart. Especially then, maybe.

You hear the pop of a bottle as he opens it, then your irritation at him fades as you're consumed instead by the feeling of the too-cold liquid pouring out onto the cleft of your ass. You shiver at the sensation, your skin in revolt as your hair stands on end. His lovely fingers are there to heal you, his thumb rubbing against your skin to work the lubricant onto you.

“Raubahn.” You have a thought, something you need to remind him of but it's impossible, it's impossible to think when he finally touches you the way you want him to. He puts the tip of his finger into you and you whine into the bed. “Raubahn, Raubahn.”

He doesn't slow down in his careful coating of your ass, his fingers setting all your nerve endings on fire. Slowly, slowly, achingly, awfully, you hate him, honestly, you want to die on his fingers, he turns you into a mess of a person panting into the sheets. You smile up at him.

“What is it, imp?” he asks, gentleness in his voice as he beholds the end result of his efforts. It would make you happy usually, to hear him soft for you like this, but you're too focused on the dam of need inside your body right now.

“I hate you. Put something bigger in me now.” Your nails have dug grooves into your ass with the grip you’d had on yourself for him. He lifts you up by the hip to kiss your skin, running his tongue over indentations you've put on yourself.

“Don't make yourself into a liar. As you said, you adore me, and I adore your foolishness as well.” He readjusts you so your pelvis is in his lap, and you grind against his thigh, uselessly hoping for some relief.

He hushes you as you start to whine at him, “Shh, shh, you've been good. You have, I’ll take care of you.”

You breathe in wait, your scalp tingling with the praise. He's back in a heartbeat, and you could die for his fingers, you think. You could die for the easy way he handles you. You're grateful to whoever fashioned your body to fit within his hold so well. The length of you against the length of him is a gift, it has to be.

He presses the edge of the first bead against your ass, rubbing it against you to ensure it's wet enough, but it's stupid of him, it is. It feels good regardless but you hardly notice when he presses the bead into you, and you're glad he doesn't wait to thumb in the next one with a twist of his wrist.

The feeling is - “It feels so good. It just feels so good, Raubahn. Please, please, I want more, gods, that feels really good.”

The stretch of you as he pushes the third of the beads deeper inside you, the tightening and untightening of muscle around it, the arch of your back in desire and your low, needy breathing around it, it all sets you alight. Your nerves are dancing, you're electric, a current of emotion and sensation.

Raubahn considers the next bead, measuring it against the tight-again place he wants it to enter. He moves it slightly and you gasp at the pulling sensation inside you.

“Pretty,” he says, the word meant perhaps only for himself, as he presses the bead inside to watch the stretch of you as you take it in.

“Who's pretty?” you ask him.

He doesn't answer you, but starts to rub the fifth bead against your perineum, rubbing into the muscle. You jolt at the deep, deep place it touches you, letting out a sharp keen that embarrasses even you. You clasp your hands over your mouth to keep it inside you.

“Don't do that, let me hear you,” he says mildly.

You shake your head, not moving your hands as you feel the heat flush into your head and make you a little dizzy.

“I want to hear you, sweet.” He pulls your hip back until you're almost sitting up in his lap as he pushes in the next bead so quickly an arc of pleasure jerks through your whole body. Your body is vibrating, you're not sure how your trembling doesn't shake the whole bed.

He grinds your ass against his cock with the beads still inside and you moan, loud and desperate, your hands no longer over your mouth. The ribbing of the beads as they rub against your insides is such a delight, your body instinctively thrusting back to dig yourself into him to make him moan the same as you.

“Raubahn, Raubahn,” you're sobbing, you are, “Gods, are you that hard just from touching me? I want to touch you too.”

“In a while, love. I bid you not to move right now.”

And when did he start calling you love? He's destroying you, you're falling apart under his touch like this. What are you supposed to do with him? He can do anything he wants to you while you decide. He can keep doing anything to you, even after you decide. You’ll go wherever he takes you.

You hold still as he's asked you, letting him handle your body without any resistance as he adjusts you so that you're up on your knees with your back to him.

“‘Tis the last one,” he explains. You nod, trying to peer over your shoulder at his concentrated face. His head is down so all you can see is the crown of his forehead and hair but you don't begrudge the sight at all. If you could, you'd live there, dancing through the scars that make up his face.

He wants to make sure that the last bead goes inside you because he always wants to see his work to completion, no matter what it is. You adore him, you think you love him even, for his confounding principles.

Raubahn runs the last bead in circles over your ass before pressing it halfway and then pulling it back out in gentle thrust. You start to pant again, the nerves of your body around his continuing ministrations tingling a rapturous pleasure through your lower body. He continues the half-thrusts until your thighs are shaking, you're barely able to keep your body up for him. He’s enjoying the stretch and relax of your muscle around his fingers, and it’s such a thrill to even have that be a reality for you.

“I believe I may love you,” you pant, barely coherent anymore. His calling you love has destroyed your soundness of mind, you believe. He pauses, the bead in his hand still in the halfway place inside you as you stretch around its size.

“You believe?” he says, his voice coming out raspier than you think he means it to. He doesn't move, his hand still holding you steady.

“Don't, don't leave me like this. Don't not answer me.” You fling an arm back to yank at his hair, trying to pull him closer to kiss you. “Rhalgar have mercy on you because I will not.”

He laughs, delighted at your enraged display, “Foolish beyond words.”

Raubahn thrusts the bead in, using two of his fingers to push it inside you while his thumb keeps the base ring outside your body. He fucks you with his fingers, circling the beads inside you and you can feel them. Gods, you can feel them. They dance around inside you and the sensation jumps up hysterically into your throat as you whine and cry at the sheer delight of being full. You feel full, more than anything, but that feels good. It feels good to have him decide how to fill you up for him.

He leans forward indulgently to you as you drag him in, pushing your moans back down your throat and feeding you some of his own so that your throat and chest vibrate with the combined sound.

You let go first, to your annoyance. He smiles softly against your mouth, kissing your tear-stained cheek.

“I love you as well, imp. ‘Twas not a lack of feeling the words, but that I did not question the importance for them to be said.”

“Oh,” you say stupidly. His fingers keep the pace inside you and you feel you're on the brink of an orgasm, losing your train of thought. “If you pull out the beads slowly, I’ll come.”

“Do you want me to do so?”

“Yes, I do.”

You let go of his hair to wrap your arm around his neck instead, bracing yourself against him as he starts to pull out the beads with a searing slowness.

It's - it's, you don't know how to even think about how it feels, much less say it in words. It's nothing but pure physiciality, your nerve endings alight with the shiver of sensation and the ceasing of sensation, then back again before your body can calm itself. It's a shard of lust sharpening inside you until it cuts you open. It's just sheer arousal. You could live for these moments alone.

You stagger your moans with each burst of pleasure, then shout hoarsely as one catches just right against you, setting you completely into shock. You tighten your grip on his shoulder and squeeze your legs tightly together as you come.

You drop your body on the bed, not thinking about anything but the exquisite electricity of your body as you dig your nails into your thighs, feeling the arc of pleasure spark through you and subside so, so slowly. You miss it unbearably when it's gone, this little gift he gave you for no reason other than he loves you. He loves you, and was too silly to remember to say it. It's just like him. You love him too.

When you can, you peer up at him and see him staring down at you, his mouth open as he beholds you. Which - and good, it's what you deserve - makes you desperate to touch him again immediately.

“I love you. No belief or perhaps about it. Just as an absolute truth,” you offer, “Let me make you come too.”

He growls, immediately bearing down with his body upon you, trying to kiss the words out of your mouth. You fight against him, petulantly refusing him access to you. You grab at a remaining toy you hadn't knocked off in your jostling around on the bed, presenting it to him. “Look, look. This would feel so good on your cock.”

You rub the textured sleeve into his face as he buries his head into your neck in defeat. “How would you like me?” His lips tickle your throat. You kiss his ear in delight.

“On your back, ser.”

He acquiesces easily enough, flipping you both with his hand so that you slide on top of him with your hands on his chest. You kiss him, suddenly forgetting your motives in the feeling of his mouth. You've kissed him so much but you don't know it'd be possible to tire of him.

You realize you feel a little silly as he stares up at you with his perceptive but soft eyes. You have no idea how you're going to do this to him, loose and languid as you are from your own orgasm, your self-control frayed to threads by him. You think you might just ride him, but you want to make him feel as good as he's made you feel. You’re greedy to pleasure him as much as possible, in fact.

“I love you,” you repeat.

“Aye, you've said as much.”

“I wanted to say it again. I love you.” You kiss him once more on the mouth, bidding him goodbye as you make your way down his body. You stop to bite a circle around his nipple, sucking a bruise there to match the one on his neck. He won't be as annoyed with this one, you think, although he does take a gentle swat to your back when you linger too long.

“I love you.” It's you again, but it's always been you. Of course you've always been in love with him, you think as you kiss his navel. You've just always thought it was the physical body of him with the physical body of you, but it's so much more. You're obsessed with this non-discovery. Of course he's also in love with you. You’d chase him until the end of the world until he did.

You admire his cock, running the tip of your nose up against his half-hardness. He's so pretty, he really is. You want your mouth on him and there's no reason to refrain from it - you love each other, after all - so you lick up and then down his length, stopping to kiss his base. He groans, looking down at you with such adoration in his eyes.

You coat the inside of the sleeve with a new bottle of lubricant, making sure it's soaked enough that a lazy spill of liquid runs down your arm with your overpreperation. You grin sharply at him as you squeeze it to make sure the rigid bumps inside are coated, the sound of it vulgar and wet in the air between you.

He breathes in, and you can hear it, the arousal catching in his throat. You want it, drag it up out of his throat to hold it in the space between your lips.

“If you sit up, you’ll get a better look,” you tell him kindly, because it's easier than singing out the litany of desires you have for him to always keep his eyes and fingers and mouth on you. All the words in the world and they're nothing in comparison to how his features soften from lust to love as he sits up to look down upon you in his lap.

Stretching the sleeve, you rest it against the tip of his cock and drag it down. Slowly, because you want him to feel it, the ribbing inside against his length. It must feel good, because his hand comes down to rest against the back of your neck to seek your warmth. It must feel good because he gasps out, “Love, ah, love.”

He groans, the sound shaking your sternum, cleaving into your ribs with the strength of his desire. You look up at him, watching the complex dance of his features. It's obscene, the way your heart swells to feel more full than his leaking cock.

It takes a few breaths for you to remember how to think, and you finish pulling the sleeve down to the base of his cock before holding him with both your hands and starting to stroke him. The sleeve is wet enough on the outside you can barely maneuver it, you can't imagine how he's feeling it on himself. The sound is absolutely filthy, making your head hot with the liquid squelching around him.

You realize the sleeve is short enough on him that you can - and so you do, you envelop the tip of him into your mouth, sucking lightly and then not so lightly. Gods, you love him. You really do, the way he doesn't mind the loud, deep moan that escapes him when your tongue touches his cock. He thumbs at the back of your neck, rubbing in warmth and reassurance for no reason at all.

“You're - you, you,” he says, trying to hold onto his coherence, but you don't let him, your tongue circling around the tip of his cock before your mouth takes him in to meet the edge of the sleeve. You suck in tandem to the toy, the thrust of your tongue against his cock wet with come and lubricant.

Your mouth feels swollen and soaked, and you can feel a drop of saliva, or come, or lube, - gods who cares - from your mouth running down onto your chin and then throat. You moan around him, feeling the phantom return of wanton currents in your body. His hold on the back of your neck tightens, a tender hold as his body starts to signal you with tell-tale shakes.

There's nothing he could do to get you off him, but he at least tries to when he comes, his valiant efforts wasted as you instead swallow him as deeply as you can when the heat starts to hit your throat. You can't imagine not taking him all in, and cling onto his thighs as you taste him, ignoring the lube and rubber taste because this is him, it's Raubahn. Your friend and lover, the object of your obsessive desires. It's a love he so carefully accepts and returns back to you in the way you need him to.

“Gods, I love you,” you say when you finally can't hold your breath around his come in your mouth. You know your voice sounds wrecked, it's hoarse and barely intelligible but he pulls you up into his embrace anyway.

He kisses you deeply, trying to tell you he feels the same without words, because apparently that is his way. He grimaces against the taste of himself in your mouth, but that's his own issue, so you run your tongue over his teeth to coat him with his own come. He can cope.

You lean back slightly to free him of the sleeve on his tired cock, tossing it off into a corner and begrudging your future self to have patience with you in how much effort it's going to take to clean up the mess you've made.

“Raubahn, I need you to say it back now,” you inform him, digging your thumbs into his cheeks to wake him up. His arm presses you in tightly to himself as he goes soft, leaning back on the bed so you can lie on top of him, closing his eyes in his post orgasm calm. How dare he look so tranquil? He hasn't spoken to you in ages.

“I love you,” he mumbles.

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“Again, please.”

He rolls over, tucking you into his arm. “The words will lose meaning, silly imp.”

“Absolutely not, I feel them every time. I love you,” you press back against him, trying to pull him closer, closer even more. “See, I felt it, didn't you?”

Raubahn hums, sleepy and loose-limbed. “I love you, like you painted every star in the sky by your own hand. I think of you every time there's any beauty or silliness around me. Anytime that I feel quiet, it’s because you are on my mind.”

“I think of you always, love. Always.”

You want him to continue, keep singing your praises as you bully him into poeticism, but he falls asleep instead. You'll forgive him, but maybe only this once.

**Author's Note:**

> content inspired by celes dm-ing me "listen. just dump a box of plugs, beads, and toys in his lap and go 'use them on me. you'll see. i can take you.'"


End file.
